The Tragedy of Dearka and Miriallia
by silvercage
Summary: [On hold]The basic plot of Romeo and Juliet, tweaked to my liking. With the Coordinators stuck on Earth with the Naturals, conflicts are bound to arise. Two young love birds emerge, but will they play by the rules fate set? T for violence and language.
1. Prologue

**The Tragedy of Dearka and Miriallia**

The plot of _Romeo and Juliet_, tweaked to my liking. There is no war and everyone lives on Earth. The Naturals play the part of the Capulets and the Coordinators are the Montagues. Just play along.

Juliet- Miriallia

Paris- Tolle

Capulet- Mwu

Lady Capulet- Murrue

Nurse- Fllay

Tybalt- Sai

Romeo- Dearka

Benvolio- Nicol

Mercutio- Rusty

Friar Lawrence- Athrun

Montague- Kira

Lady Montague- Lacus

The Prince- Cagalli (P.S. she is still a girl)

**

* * *

**

**Prologue**

Everyone knows how the Coordinators came into existence. They were created, manufactured, if you will, to be the ultimate form of humans. From the time the Coordinators were first created, there has been a conflict between them, and the original humans, the Naturals. PLANT has been destroyed, so all Coordinators that did not die in the collapse of the colony had to come to Earth to survive until their home could be rebuilt. From these two bodies of blood-thirsty enemies, two teenagers come together by chance and start what is believed to be an ill-fated romance.

As the animosity between the two breeds of humans grows more intense, will Dearka and Miriallia play by the rules that fate has set?


	2. Chapter One: The Stage is Set

**Chapter One: The Stage is Set**

Kuzzey and Greg, two Naturals, strolled through the market place of the bustling city of Venanatia. Both had guns in holsters at their waists; you could never be too careful in such dangerous times.

Greg was fuming. "This place is just crawling with filthy Coordinators. Who do they think they are, just strolling in here and pushing us aside, just because they couldn't sustain their stupid colonies? They think they can just walk all over us, and treat us like _we_ are the scum of this place! And what boils my blood more is that our precious Princess Cagalli" (he spat the name like it was venom) "sits there and lets it happen. If I were in her place, I would call in the military and have the Coordinators exterminated, like the parasites they are!"

Kuzzey tried to shush his friend, which only made Greg snap at him. "You want them here, then? Crawling all over our Earth? They made their decisions; they kept making more of themselves and they left Earth. They should have to deal with their own problems! They would never help us, why should we help them?"

"Greg, Greg!" Kuzzey hissed, "I agree with you, they shouldn't be here. But please, don't talk so loudly. A Coordinator could walk by at any moment."

"We could take them," Greg grumbled.

"I have no wish to be moved to draw my weapon."

"You are never moved, Kuzzey," replied Greg.

"I would be moved by being pushed into it. I have no wish to fight unless I had no other choice," Kuzzey replied. He stopped at a kiosk and picked up an apple, tossing a coin to the vender.

As they walked on, Greg nudged Kuzzey in the ribs and whispered in his ear, "Keep your hand on your gun; I see scum ahead."

Sure enough, two Coordinators had just rounded a corner up ahead.

"Don't provoke them," Kuzzey warned, "If we fire first, the law is against us." Greg nodded. The two Naturals did their best at strolling casually by, but Greg could not help himself. As the two black haired Coordinators walked by, he stuck out his foot, causing one to stumble.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you are doing?" the other Coordinator asked, pulling his friend up before he hit the broken pavement of the sidewalk.

Kuzzey glared at Greg. "It was an accident," he said casually and began to walk away.

"The hell it was!" exclaimed the Coordinator who tripped, pulling out his gun, "You think you're better than me, Natural?" he snarled.

"Much better," Greg replied.

The Coordinator squeezed his trigger. Kuzzey pulled Greg down in the knick of time, throwing them behind a stall selling odds and ends. People in the market screamed and ran for cover. Ever since the Coordinators arrived three months before, more than a few innocent by standers had lost their lives in the crossfire. The two Coordinators ducked behind some crates that were sitting, waiting to be unloaded. Kuzzey drew his weapon and was about to fire, when a slim, green-haired young man dashed out from around a corner.

"Wait!" Nicol cried, holding up both hands to signal the four men to hold their fire, "Stop, don't shoot."

At that point, Sai, a blond Natural with the temper of a hungry shark, strutted onto the scene.

"And why shouldn't they shoot?" he asked, as if he had been greatly insulted, "Ah, because it is the cowardly Nicol who bade them to do so. Are you afraid to fight? If you are a man, turn around and face your death." Sai pulled out his gun and pointed it directly at Nicol's head.

"I'm trying to keep the peace," Nicol said, not drawing his weapon, but keeping his had close incase he needed it. "I am no coward, but I don't want anyone to die today."

"A Coordinator, talking of peace!" Sai cried, still pointing his gun, "If you didn't want anyone to die, you and your kind should've never come here."

Sirens sounded in the distance. Nicol sighed in relief; some one had called the police. Within seconds, the cops had arrived and split up the scuffle, confiscating all guns. They were about to cart some people off for questioning, when a hoard of unfriendly guests arrived.

From one side came a group of Coordinators, their leader Kira, a renowned military man in his mid forties, storming at the head of the group, his hand on the butt of his gun, ready to pull. His wife Lacus had to jog to keep up with his quick pace, begging him not to stir up more trouble.

From the other side of the market came the Naturals. Their leader was Mwu, who was a few years older than Kira. He had a look on his face that would have made milk curdle. His wife Murrue was desperately trying to keep him from drawing his weapon.

"Look at that piece of filth," Mwu hissed to his wife as he tried to wrench his gun out of his holster, "walking around here like he belongs. I swear to God, his head will meet with a bullet of mine one of these days."

"Mwu, don't say such things!" Murrue exclaimed.

Just as the two clans were about to clash, a roaring black motorcycle flew into the ever tightening gap. It stopped dead centre, between Kira and Mwu. The rider took of her helmet, and blonde hair swung out and her blue eyes blazed. Just behind her, twenty other motorcycles came roaring along and spread out in a line behind her. It was Cagalli, Princess of Venanatia, and her body guards.

"What is the meaning of this?" yelled Cagalli, outraged. "The two of you again, I see," looking between Kira and Mwu. "What do you think you are doing, shooting off guns in public places, endangering the lives of my people! I will _not _tolerate any more of this. I want to see both of you," she pointed at Mwu, then Kira, "in my office, this afternoon. I promise you, the next time either of you spill blood on the streets of my city, I will have your heads! All of you, go home, NOW!" Cagalli screamed at the top of her lungs. Not wanting to test her limits, the crowds dissipated at a tremendous speed. The Princess shoved her helmet back on and signaled with her hand for her bodyguards to follow her. She roared out of the marketplace with her train right behind her.

Nicol, who had got his gun back from the police, pushed his way through the crowed of Coordinators. He came up to Kira Yamato and bobbed his head in a quick bow.

"Who started this?" Kira demanded.

"One of the Naturals tripped one of our men on purpose, so our guy drew his gun and shot at the Natural." Nicol reported.

"Damn Naturals," Kira hissed under his breath.

Lacus was clinging onto her husband's arm, not only out of affection, but also to make sure he didn't make any sudden moves. A pensive look came over her face. "I am glad that Dearka did not get involved in this mess," she said softly. "I worry about him a great deal. I worry about you also, Nicol, this fighting will only end in deaths, and I could not bear it if such a tragedy came so close to us."

Nicol smiled a little. "Don't worry about us, Aunt Lacus. Dearka and I know what we are doing."

"But all the same…" Lacus whispered.

"Have you seen our son today?" Kira asked curtly.

"I saw him leaving the city boarders around dawn," Nicol answered. "He looked like he was going for a walk in the woods."

"He's been doing that a lot lately," Kira said, almost irritated, "Leaving early, coming home late, and never leaving his room while he is there."

Lacus leaned her head against Kira's shoulder. "He must be in love," she said silkily, "As I recall, you went through a similar stage around his age," Lacus said, smiling up at her husband.

The crowd behind them was nearly all gone, so Kira stopped walking and swung his wife around gently to face her. "I still love you as much as I did then," he murmured and pulled her in for a soft kiss. Kira Yamato was a kind and loving man, but the times were difficult, and he sometimes lost himself in the turmoil.

They had reached the gates of the Yamato estate on the outskirts of town. Kira entered the code to enter as Lacus bid goodbye to her nephew.

"If you see Dearka," she was saying, "make him promise to be home for dinner tonight. And make sure you are there too."

"Sure thing, Aunt Lacus!" Nicol replied as she slipped through the gates up to her house.

Dearka was sitting on a stone bench overlooking a large pond at the edge of the woods. He was hunched over, chin in his hands, lost in his thoughts. He didn't realize his cousin was sitting beside him until Nicol cleared his throat.

Dearka jumped slightly. "Jesus," he said, "you could have told me you were there."

"I just did," the green-haired youth answered cheekily, "Your mother wants you home in time for dinner tonight, so you'd better make sure you are there, or else she'll be serving my head for breakfast."

Dearka chuckled at the thought; he could not remember a single time when he had seen his mother angry. He fell silent again, running his hand through his unruly golden hair.

"Dude, what is up with you lately?" asked Nicol, regarding his cousin with a concerned look on his face. Dearka sighed. "It' a girl isn't it?" Nicol asked, a knowing smile on his face. Dearka didn't reply. "There isn't a single girl of ours that wouldn't have you, just ask her out!" Nicol chirped.

"She's not one of ours," Dearka said, his voice little more than a whisper.

"What!" Nicol yelped, "A Natural?"

Dearka sat up, elbowing his cousin in the ribs. "Shut up!" he hissed, looking around to make sure no one was around to hear.

"Who?" Nicol whispered, leaning in.

"Rosalind," Dearka admitted, not meeting his cousin's honey brown orbs, even though he could feel them burning a hole into the side of his head.

"Rosalind, as in Rosalind la Flaga, as in Mwu la Flaga's niece?" Nicol asked, disbelievingly.

"Dude, shut up," Dearka murmured, slumping down on the bench, running both hands through his hair with his eyes closed.

"So what do you like so much about her?" Nicol asked with a sly grin.

"Look Nicol, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not a chick. I don't like talking about my feelings and shit, okay?" Dearka sneered.

"Whatever," Nicol said, standing up, "We should leave if we are going to get back to your house in time for supper."

Both teens slipped out of the park into the lengthening shadows.

* * *

A/N:I'm not going to be like those people who refuse to post unless 40 jillion people review. As long as one person lets me know that they want to read more, I'll keep posting. : ) 


	3. Chapter Two: Enter the Lovers

A/N: Thanks to MirangoAndAthalii, tha lil' angel, Angel of Dreams, TotalAnimeGirl, and Little Cherry Blossom Angel for reviewing. And to answer tha lil' angel's question, yes, Cagalli is a girl. Looking back, I guess I kinda didn't explain that at all. She is in the same role as the Prince in the original Rom and Jul, just like Miriallia is in the same role as Juliet, but she isn't really Juliet. Does that make any sense?

On another note, if you would flip back to the Prologue, you will find that the role of Mercutio has been changed. At first I had it as Yzak, but I was thinking about it, and he _really_ doesn't fit into that role at all. So I was thinking, and then it hit me…Rusty! I was flipping through my Gundam Seed graphic novels and I saw him near the beginning and at first I was like "Who is that?" and then I was like "Oh yeah, Rusty, he exists." So now Rusty is Mercutio, because I say so and I can do that. Muahahahaha, muhahahaha, MUHAHAHAHA…and now back to the story.

**Chapter Two: Enter the Lovers**

Mwu la Flaga leaned against the worn sill of an open window looking out over the vast courtyard of his estate. He heaved a heavy sigh and spoke in a low voice.

"I suppose Princess Cagalli is right," he said, looking over his shoulder to face the large room's other occupant, a young man named Tolle who was sitting on the red couch, "Men such as myself and Kira Yamato are far to old to be behaving in such a manner. I only want to live out the rest of my life in peace, and make sure that my family will survive without me. Perhaps the time has come to let the cards lie where they fall."

"I couldn't agree with you more, sir," replied Tolle, standing up, "This fighting will get us nowhere. But sir, if I could just redirect your attention to the reason for my visit…?"

Mwu sighed and turned to face Tolle. "She is still too young."

"But sir," said Tolle, "Tonight she turns fifteen. There are girls younger than her who are already mothers."

"And I would not have any of them to be my daughter," Mwu answered gruffly, "She is my only child who is not buried. The last thing I want to do is send her out of my house before her time. Give her two more years, Tolle, she will be ready then. In the mean time," Mwu said, slinging an arm around Tolle's shoulder and steering him out into the wide corridor, "Try to bring her over to your side, see if she will love you, or at least accept you."

"Yes, sir!" Tolle chirped.

"Now then," Said Mwu, opening the front door, "Go home and get ready for the ball!"

"Remind me again why I am doing this," Dearka growled under his breath to Nicol. The sun had nearly set, and in the east stars were beginning to peak out. Dearka, Nicol, Yzak, and ten other male Coordinator teens were making their way through the back streets of Venanatia. They were on their way to la Flaga's ball, held in honour of his daughter's birthday. Luckily for the party crashers, it was a costume ball. Dearka was wearing all red and had the mask of a hideous devil, flames coming out of the mouth and nostrils; Nicol had decided to go as a dark green cat, and Yzak (who had not wanted to wear a costume at all, but was persuaded when Dearka pointed out that he would be shot if he didn't) was wearing all black with a long cape that billowed in the breeze. Rusty was late, as usual, most likely due to a meeting with his lover known to the rest of the world as crack.

"You are doing this," said Nicol, pushing his mask up to sit on top of his head, "so that you can speak to your beloved Rosalind." Nicol laughed as Dearka roughly shoved him to the side.

"Don't talk so loud," Dearka hissed, pulling up his mask as well, "Some one will hear you."

Two orange clad arms came out of the darkness, one wrapping around Nicol's neck, the other snaking around Dearka's. Both teens jumped.

"Jesus, Rusty," Dearka muttered.

Rusty was wearing an incredibly tight orange spandex jumpsuit. Dangling out of one hand was a mask with a long face and some kind of fringe coming out of the top.

"What the hell are you supposed to be?" asked Dearka in a snide way.

Rusty was nearly bouncing. He let go of his friends' necks and bounded a few steps ahead, then turned to face them, walking backwards. "I'm a horse," he declared.

"A horse?" asked Yzak, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," said Rusty, a suggestive grin on his face, "I'm gonna see if any young ladies at the ball want to go for a ride."

Nicol snorted. "Like any of them would have you."

"You'd be surprised, my dear cat," replied Rusty, "You should give it a whirl sometime. There is more to this world than you little piano."

"This is a stupid idea," Dearka changed the subject, crossing his arms, "What is the point in going to la Flaga's little ball?"

"What's the matter, Deark," Rusty asked sarcastically, "got you're panties in a twist?"

"He's just cranky 'cause he's in love," Nicol said loudly. Nicol's head was instantly acquainted with Dearka's hand.

"Really," Rusty smirked, "Well then, Dearka, this party is just the thing you need. You won't have to worry about bumping into her where we are going,"

"Oh, yes he will!" exclaimed Nicol. Dearka slapped the back of his head again.

Rusty let out a loud peal of laughter. "A Natural, eh? Who is it?"

"Rosalind," Nicol squeaked, ducking that time.

"Alright, boys," exclaimed Rusty, "masks on. We're here."

They had missed the feast, but the Coordinators had not intended to catch it. The first chords of music had started just as the band of masked youths burst through the doors. Within the first fifteen minutes, Rusty had disappeared, along with a rather scantily clad Natural. Nicol had danced his was through several partners while Yzak was scowling in a corner.

Dearka was leaning against the refreshment table, a glass clutched loosely in his hand, his mask raised just a little so that he could drink. His eyes drifted lazily across the ballroom, and the violet orbs snagged on the figure of a brown haired girl in a white strapless floor-length gown. A thousand tiny stars sparkled on the full, gauzy skirt that floated just above the gown and across the tight bodice. Sewn onto the back of the dress was a set of silver wings covered in glitter, and a matching half-mask was perched on top of her light brown hair. She wasn't wearing any make-up, and Dearka could tell that she definitely didn't need any. She was smiling dutifully at a young man. He held out his hand, and the girl put her gloved one in it. The male seemed to stumble to the dance floor (most likely surprised by his good fortune), and the girl seemed to glide across the polished floor.

Dearka's breath was caught in his throat. He felt as though he was bound and rooted to the spot on which he stood, paralyzed by an overwhelming feeling that started somewhere in his chest and flooded throughout his entire being. He had never felt anything like it before. As he stared into the angel's blue eyes as she danced, he couldn't help but feel grateful that most of his face was covered by a mask; he could feel the blood rising in his face.

A slow song started to play, giving Dearka an idea. He set down his glass and started out onto the dance floor. He tried to discreetly push his way through dancing couples, passing Nicol on the way, who just stared blankly at his friend. After an eternity (or five seconds to everyone else in the room), Dearka reached the angel and the awkward youth. He tapped the male on the shoulder and said roguishly, "Mind if I cut in?"

The youth looked slightly taken aback through his mask. He spluttered for a second, looked at the girl (who cocked her head to the side expectantly), and then nodded and moved away. Dearka slid into the vacant spot and snaked his arms around the angel's waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck. They danced quietly for while, Dearka trying to find an appropriate place for him to look, and the girl glancing up at him through her sparkling half-mask, a puzzled look in her bright blue eyes. She was trying to figure out who the young man was, but didn't want to ask him outright, figuring that he was some kind of distant cousin and would get offended if she didn't remember him.

Finally the girl worked up her courage and said, "I don't recall seeing you at dinner."

Dearka chanced a look into her eyes and answered, "I like to be fashionably late."

The girl laughed. That laugh, it sounded like music, music that seemed to wake some strange, soft, gentle being in the bottom of Dearka's soul that he barely knew was there. The two dancers didn't dare tear their eyes away from each other.

Not too far away stood the brooding figure of Sai Argyle. He had been watching the couple, not daring to believe his eyes at first. But there was no mistaking it. His cousin was dancing with a Coordinator. Did she not know? How couldn't she, though, she was about an inch away from him, after all. Anger rose in Sai's throat, ready to erupt. He turned on his heel and strode purposefully over to Mwu.

"Uncle," Sai hissed in his ear, "there are enemies here."

"Enemies?" Mwu asked, a little confused.

"Coordinators," Sai spat the word like venom. He pushed back the left side of his jacket, revealing a gun in his waistband. "I'll take care of them."

"No," Mwu said in a voice that was not his own, "We are no longer to make war on the Coordinators."

Sai was shocked. "But…Uncle…!"

"You will do nothing of the sort in my house!" Mwu exclaimed, causing his nephew to jump. Sai regained his composure and gritted his teeth before stalking off.

Mwu's eyes swept across the dance floor. He could easily pick out at least nine Coordinators with their colourful hair, and about five that could have been. Mwu hummed under his breath and looked over at his wife, who was chatting animatedly with some of her friends. If he had kept looking he would have seen a demon life up his mask slightly and an angel lightly press her lips against his.


	4. Chapter Three: The Balcony Scene

**Chapter Three: The Balcony Scene**

The heavy front doors of la Flaga's house were flung open. Light flowed down the stone steps like water, down onto the cobbled street below. In the distance an ancient cathedral's age-old bell tolled one o'clock in its hollow, booming voice. Guests from the party stumbled and slumped down the steps in various states of intoxication. At the bottom of the stairs, the mob split into two, going down opposite streets.

The young Coordinators were straggling behind the rest of the crowd. Nearly half of their troop had to lean on each other so that they would not pass out cold in the street. Rusty was practically being carried by Nicol, who had pushed his mask up on top of his head so that he could see where he was walking. Rusty was not making the green-haired boy's work any easier; he was singing a song of his own making, his words slurred together, waving his free arm about wildly. Dearka was silently meandering behind the two, his eyes following the line of the la Flaga mansion that could be seen over the high wall. Nicol looked over his shoulder at the blond boy, who promptly tripped over a protruding cobblestone.

Nicol laughed. "What's up with you?" he asked his cousin. Dearka blushed fiercely. He regretted pushing up his mask earlier, although his face was now much the same colour as the fake one. Dearka mumbled something under his breath.

"Rosalind wasn't even there," Nicol announced.

Rosalind. Dearka had forgotten about her. Dearka tried to recall what she looked like, but her face wouldn't come. _Strange,_ Dearka thought. He knew that he should remember it, for it had haunted him for a fair few weeks.

A light suddenly flashed into life above them. Dearka looked up to the house, and saw, on the second storey above the wall, a tall window. The small panes of glass were suspended by a wooden lattice. Beyond it, Dearka saw her. Sitting in front of a mirror, her white dress still enshrouding her and her wings slung over her shoulders. She had taken off her mask and was brushing her hair. Dearka stopped dead in his tracks. A strange sensation engulfed him, like ocean waves sweeping over him and pulling him out to sea.

He wanted to see her again, up close. He wanted to touch her again, make sure she was real and not some apparition that could be there one minute and gone the next. Somewhere in his chest, Dearka felt a hook sink into his flesh and pull him forwards. He was at the corner of the high wall, and a tree stood a little in front of him. Much to the surprise of his cousin, Dearka sprang to life, dashing forward a few steps and hurling himself up the tall tree, through the foliage, and vaulting over the wall.

Nicol's knees nearly gave out beneath him, his mouth hanging open, eyes round as coins. Rusty, apparently, didn't notice a thing and kept singing and flailing.

* * *

Miriallia absently brushed her hair. Her blue eyes were dazed, and stared at a point just beyond the reflection of the mirror. She didn't know what to think. On its own accord, her mind kept drifting back to the blond haired boy. He had kissed her, right there on the dance floor in front of the entire world. She didn't even know his name (and she doubted if he knew hers). She blushed at the memory of his soft, warm lips against her skin.

The door at the far end of the room opened and slammed shut again, making the girl jump and drop her hair brush. She whirled around to see her nursemaid, Fllay, a middle aged woman with dark red hair, bustle into the room, a stack of clean sheets in her arms. She plopped them down on top of the big four-poster bed. She always moved as if she had a million things to do and never enough time to do them. She hurried over to Miriallia and picked up the fallen tool, and began to impatiently (but still gently) pull it through the brown locks.

"You'll never guess what I heard from the kitchen staff," Fllay began. Ever since Miriallia could remember, Fllay had always loved to gossip and never held anything back from her charge.

"Isn't it a little late for tall tales?" Miriallia asked tiredly.

"Heavens, no!" Fllay exclaimed, and then continued on with her information. "One of them overheard your cousin Sai talking to your father during the ball. Apparently there was a whole hoard of Coordinators there!" Fllay would have sounded outraged if there hadn't been a distinct note of pleasure in her voice. The nurse loved scandals.

Miriallia turned, causing the brush to get tangled in her hair. "Coordinators?" she asked incredulously.

Flllay worked the brush out of the tangled spot and proceeded to smooth it out. She had a smug look on her face, and she nodded gravely. "Yes," she proclaimed, "At least twelve, Master Sai reckoned, probably more. We live in dangerous times, don't forget missy. Why, imagine, _twelve _Coordinators, in this very house. It gives me the shivers."

Miriallia had stopped listening. Her brows were knit and a slight frown resided over her mouth. That boy, she didn't recognize him. Was he _one of them?_

Miriallia's breath caught in her throat. She blinked twice, trying to clear her head. She was seeing things. For a second, it looked like a streak of red had shot over the wall. It must have been the late hour, she told herself. But then, there it was again. Except it was running across the yard.

Fllay had put down the brush and started to change Miri's sheets, saying she didn't have time during the day because of the preparations for the ball. Miriallia's mind raced. There was a lattice with wisteria climbing up it all along the walls of the house. He would probably try to pull a Casanova and climb up it, to her window. If he was caught…

"Fllay," Miri interrupted her nurse mid-excuse, "Do you think you could bring me some orange juice? I feel a little dizzy from all of the dancing. I think I may be a little dehydrated." Miriallia had known her nurse all her life. Fllay may have acted like a contemptuous school girl at times, but she would never let anything happen to the girl she had brought up. Miriallia knew that Fllay would insist on squeezing orange juice herself to make sure it wasn't tampered with, and she would make sure she brought lots of it to ward off the "dehydration." Fllay exited with a quiet "Of course."

Miriallia stayed perched atop her vanity stool until the door clicked shut and she could no longer hear the quick steps down the hall. The girl nearly flew to the window. She unlatched it as quickly as she could and flung herself out onto the small balcony. At the same time that she came out, a devil's face poked above the concrete floor. Dearka pulled himself over the wrought iron railing. He stood before Miriallia, panting slightly.

"Hi," he spluttered.

Miri looked shocked. She slammed the window shut, looked to the other balconies to make sure no one was watching, and then pulled the boy down onto the hard, cold floor.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered fiercely, kneeling next to him.

Dearka winced as he hit the concrete. He looked up into the girl's pale face. That was a damn good question. His plan (which he formulated in a split second) only took him to the part when he got over the wall.

"I…uh," he began.

"You're a Coordinator, aren't you?" Miriallia asked. There was a strange note in her voice. It sounded a lot like pain, betrayal.

Dearka, having finally caught his breath, looked her straight in the eye. "Does it matter?" he asked defiantly.

Miriallia hadn't expected that response. "W-well," she stuttered.

"I have a name," Dearka said a little more softly, "It's Dearka."

"Miriallia," she answered, blushing slightly and looking down. But then she remembered. "Hey, you jerk, you stole my first kiss!"

Dearka was taken aback. "Oh," was all he could think to say, "Sorry." There was a long pause. "So," Dearka tried to muster up all of the courage he could, "Does the second kiss matter?"

Miriallia tried not to smile. She leaned in closer to Dearka so that he could feel her breath on his cheek. "It might," she half-whispered.

Their eyes met. Dearka reached out his hand and brushed his fingertips across Mir's warm cheek. He traced his finger along her jaw, and up over her lower lip. Miriallia closer her eyes lightly, and Dearka slowly moved his hand to the back of her neck, leaning in close. Quickly, he brushed his lips across hers and pulled away. Miriallia's eyes fluttered open.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

Dearka didn't say anything, but instead pulled Miriallia into his lap, catching her lips with his. Miri gasped as she fell forward. Dearka took advantage of her open mouth and deepened the kiss. It took a moment before Miriallia could respond. After her initial shock, she melted into Dearka's embrace and returned his kiss.

Far away, the cathedral bell softly tolled the quarter hour. It was Miriallia's turn to pull back.

"My nurse will be back soon," she explained urgently, looking back over her shoulder into the brightly lit bedroom. "You should leave. If some one catches you here…"

Miriallia went to stand up, but Dearka grabbed her wrist. She looked back at him, pain etched in his violet eyes.

"We won't be able to see each other, will we?" the boy asked quietly, his shoulders slumped.

Mir's heart sunk. She knew their parents would do anything within their powers to make sure that they did not see each other. They were enemies.

Dearka pulled Miriallia closer to him, tucking her head under his chin.

Inside the bedroom, the door swung open with a squeal and hit the wall. Miriallia nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Dearka, you have to go, now," Miriallia said quickly, crawling out of his lap and pushing him towards the railing.

Dearka pulled himself up and flung a leg over the wrought iron. He inched his way back over to the lattice.

"Miriallia," Dearka whispered.

Miriallia was halfway back to her window, but she turned around.

"What is it?" she whispered back, leaning over the railing. Dearka reached out his hand, and Miriallia laced her fingers between his.

"Meet me tomorrow," he said in a husky voice, "At the caves."

"When?"

"At sunset," Dearka leaned toward Mir and kissed her softly, before crawling down the wall. The two held hands until they were too far away. Dearka looked up into Miriallia's bright blue eyes, their fingertips barely touching. With a small smile, Dearka pulled his mask down over his face, and shot down the lattice, across the lawn, and back over the wall.

"Milly?" Fllay called from inside the room. Miriallia didn't respond, but kept her eyes locked on the spot where Dearka had disappeared.

"Milly? Where are you?" Fllay called again. She stuck her head out the window. "What do you think you are doing out here?" she demanded.

"Nothing," the girl murmured. She hitched her dress up a few inches of the ground and made her way back through the large window. The nurse held offered Miriallia a glass of orange juice, but she walked right passed it and snuggled under her covers, ball gown, high heels, angel wings and all.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for taking so long. I was working on my book and so this story got pushed to the side. Anyway, I really had fun writing this chapter and I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and reviewing, it is really uplifting to hear that people like what I do. I promise I'll try to post again as soon as possible! 


	5. Chapter Four: A Voice From Within

**Chapter Four: A Voice From Within**

The first golden rays of the sun inched across the sky like searching fingers. The long, puffy clouds were separating to reveal patches of orange and pink sky. Dearka crashed through the underbrush, pushing tree branches aside and dodging shrubs.

He was still dressed in his costume, having gone straight from la Flaga's back yard to the forest that led through the park to the outskirts of Venanatia. Before long, the trees had started to thin out, until the woodland faded to a grassy field, then to golden sand. A small beach house made of warm hued woods was propped up in the sand.

Dearka's feet sank a few inches the moment he hit the sand. The gritty stuff seeped into his shoes, and he could feel the coolness of the night still evident in it. Without any ado, Dearka ran straight across the worn porch and through the unlocked door. The room was dim, with plain wooden floors and walls and an off white ceiling. The furniture was mismatched and in various states of disrepair. Despite its shabbiness, the room was comfortable and welcoming. Dearka stopped just inside the door, bent double with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

A tall, blue haired man with bright green eyes casually strolled into the front room. He was dressed in a loose white t-shirt and navy blue shorts. A chipped white mug full of steaming coffee was casually clutched in his hand. If he was surprised to see a tall teenager dressed in a tight red costume, he did not show it.

"Hey, Athrun," Dearka chirped, standing up straight and trying to be casual.

"Good morning," Athrun answered, sitting himself down an old, must, striped sofa. Athrun was ten years older than Dearka, but it might have well been one hundred for the difference in wisdom. Athrun had only been a few years old when the PLANTS had fallen in on themselves and the Coordinators had been forced to live on Earth. The animosity between the two races had never reached the calm, reserved man, though. He worked very closely with Princess Cagalli, and they had been rumoured to be lovers since their late teens.

Giving Dearka a quick once-over, Athrun turned back to his cup of coffee. "You haven't slept tonight," he stated.

"No, I haven't," Dearka answered breathlessly, kicking off his shoes and bounding over the arm of the couch to land beside Athrun in the same movement. Dearka was crouched on the balls of his feet leaning forward, a childish grin on his face. "You'll never guess what happened last night! I was at la Fllaga's and—"

Athrun's eyes shot up. "Were you with Roselind?" he asked suspiciously.

"What?" Dearka asked, taken aback by the response, "No! Roselind is the last person on my mind. I was talking about—"

"What a change!" Athrun exclaimed. Dearka missed the sarcasm in his voice. A wide smile spread across Dearka's face and his eyes twinkled. "Why yesterday, almost to the hour, you were here in this exact spot moping and moaning about Roselind. And now, suddenly, Roselind is a thing of the past? What has gotten into you?"

Dearka's smile dropped and an agitated look clouded his features. "What do you mean, 'what's gotten into me'?" Dearka jumped up from the couch in his rage. "You hypocrite! _Just yesterday_ you were telling me off for loving Roseline. And now I've gotten over her and found somebody else, and suddenly you think that I should still love Roseline?"

Athrun slammed his cup down on the coffee table, making the dark liquid slosh over the sides. The blue haired Coordinator did not get mad easily, but when he did, the gates of hell were opened wide. He stood up to match Dearka's height. The blazing emerald eyes caused Dearka to take and involuntary step back.

"Don't you dare call me a hypocrite, Dearka," Athrun said in a deadly quiet voice. "You were obsessing over Roseline, and I warned you that it wasn't good for you. I never said to forget her entirely. And I never told you to find a rebound."

"Miriallia isn't a rebound," Dearka retorted passionately, "I love her and she loves me back."

Athrun broke eye contact. His emerald eyes gazed out the window at the grey morning sky and steely sea. Slowly, he tuned and walked towards the pane of glass, leaning on the sill once he came close to it. Athrun let out a slow sigh.

"I hope you know what you are getting yourself into, my rash young friend," Athrun finally said in a low voice. "Loving some one isn't an easy business." Dearka walked up behind the blue haired man and looked into the shadowy reflection in the mirror. Lines were beginning to form around the edges of Athrun's eyes and the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, Athrun turned on his heel, a gleam in his eyes again. "Are you up for another run?"

Dearka had changed into a black pair of shorts and a white t-shirt. A drawer in Athrun's bedroom had been devoted to the fair-haired youth because of his habit of showing up unexpectedly and staying the night. The wind that came off of the ocean whipped through Dearka's unruly hair and made the light fabric of his shirt whip against his toned flesh. The two Coordinators ran a long while before coming to a stop. Athrun rested his hands on his knees, panting, while his companion, already exhausted from a sleepless night and previous exercise, fell to the sand and lay on his back staring up at the sky.

After a few moments, Dearka propped himself up on his elbows and looked out over the water. A small smile crept into his lips, catching the attention of the older man.

"What is it?" Athrun asked.

Dearka pointed. "Do you see that colour, right where the water and the sky meet?" Athrun nodded. "That's the exact colour of her eyes." Dearka let his hand drop and continued to stare at the horizon.

Athrun sighed and plopped himself down beside Dearka. "You have fallen hard and fast my friend," he said softly.

Dearka turned his head to look at the blue haired man.

"I suppose," he continued, "that you want me to pull some strings, get you a marriage certificate when you need it. I know that you're thinking about it somewhere in that head of yours: Mr. and Mrs. Dearka Elthman A/N: Just go along with it, people, I know I said he was Kira's son. "That's why you came to me, isn't it?"

Dearka nodded his head, looking back out at the place where the water met the air. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You should get home," Athrun declared, "Your mother will be worried sick."

Dearka stood up, brushed himself off, and for the third time, took off running. After showering his friend in sand, the teen trip and fell on his face.

"Be careful!" Athrun called after him as he got up and kept going. "They stumble who run fast," he added under his breath.

* * *

Rusty and Nicol wandered the main streets of Venanatia at high noon. Rusty, having woken only minutes before, was not in the best of moods. 

"Where the hell is Dearka?" he demanded of his young friend.

"He didn't go home last night," Nicol replied, "I spoke with the butler." They walked in silence for a few moments before the green-haired boy remembered something. "When I was there, I saw a note to Dearka, from Sai."

"Sai?" Rusty asked excitedly, jumping in front of Nicol and giving him a playful shove. "I'd bet my balls that it's a challenge! Did you swipe the note?"

"No," replied Nicol, taken aback, "Of course I didn't. That wouldn't be very moral of me."

Rusty laughed and put Nicol in a headlock. "What would the world do without you, you little angel!" Rusty released his captive, who began to massage his sore neck. "Do you think Dearka will answer it?"

"I would imagine," Nicol replied, "It doesn't take long to reply to a note."

"That's not what I mean. Do you think he will answer the sender, in person?"

"Dearka isn't one to let those types of things slide," Nicol answered slowly.

"Ah, I remember the good ol' days when you were like that," Rusty declared, throwing his arm around the younger Coordinator and striding forward through the street.

"Please, Rusty, I was five," Nicol replied.

"And an admirable five year old you were," Rusty said nostalgically.

"Nevertheless," Nicol continued, "I am different now, and I have seen the error in my ways. You would do good to do the same."

"Please, don't start a sermon," Rusty moaned dramatically.

"Morning, boys," Dearka saluted his friends, walking up behind them and throwing his arms around their necks, leading them farther down the street.

"It's not the morning," Nicol corrected.

"Really?" Dearka pulled his left arm away from Rusty's shoulders and studied his watch. "Well, it was a minute ago."

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Rusty asked suspiciously, "You've certainly changed a lot since yesterday."

"So I've heard," Dearka muttered.

By now, the three had reached the open marketplace, the ancient heart of Venanatia that still pumped fresh blood into the city. It was Saturday, the best business day for the stall owners. Naturals and Coordinators milled about the wide, cobbled street and browsed the same kiosks. Scuffles only broke out when the more hot-blooded members of the two clans came to the market.

The three Coordinators began to wander through the street. Rusty moved towards a stall selling tacky stuffed animals, insisting that it was his on-again, off-again girlfriend's birthday. Nicol went to a kiosk selling books and musical paraphernalia, leaving Dearka to himself. The blond teen pushed his way through the pulsing crowd, looking at every face that he passed. Everything seemed so different that day. The sun was brighter, the colours were more vivid, the smells of the city were sharper. For the first time, Dearka was _aware._ He heard and saw and sensed things that he had never noticed before, like a small boy slipping a video game into his pocket and then slinking away, a stall owner arguing with an irate woman about a faulty communicator that she had purchased the previous day, the Natural behind him pushing his jacket back slightly to give him easier access to his gun. Dearka's eyes swept back and forth across the crowd, drinking in the sights and sounds

Naturals and Coordinators mixed and mingled together, families were chattering, dogs were barking. The world, suddenly, felt so _full._ It almost felt like the world was whirling, faster and faster, around and around—

And then it stopped, hung in space for a moment, and fell away. Standing in front of a small stall selling fine silk scarves, her back to the street, was Miriallia. She was wearing an orange dress that came down to her knees with detached sleeves that skimmed along the delicate skin of her arms. _That's not her favourite colour, _Dearka found himself thinking, _She likes blue._ The thought popped into his head on its own.

Dearka got as close as he dared. He angled himself so that he was half-hidden behind a stack of elaborate carpets but could still see Miriallia's face. She looked decidedly bored, and only poked and prodded at the wares. Even with the unhappy look on her face, Dearka's breath caught in his throat. He wanted to go to her, to kiss her, stroke her hair, touch her hand, anything. A warm wave cascaded throughout Dearka's body; he could feel the sparks from where he stood.

The half-smile that had crept into Dearka's face disappeared when a tall, brown-haired youth materialized out of the crowd and put his arm around Miriallia's shoulders. She nearly jumped out of her skin. When she saw his face, she gave him a small smile.

"Tolle, there you are,"

"Did you find anything?"

Miriallia looked a little uncomfortable with the prospect of receiving gifts from the youth. "No. I think I'm ready to go home now, if you don't mind."

"Nonsense, we aren't going home until I get you something."

"It's really not necessary—"

"But I insist. You want that orange one, don't you? I know that orange is your favourite colour."

After a few more protests, the male, Tolle bought the silk scarf for Miriallia, and the two left the market.

Rage welled up inside Dearka, making him feel like he was about to explode. Did she string him along last night? What had she been doing with that guy? Dearka didn't even know if he wanted to know.

* * *

Miriallia ran along the north beach that led to the caves. It was after dark, and she was late. Her mother had invited Tolle to stay for dinner, and he had stayed to chat. Miriallia had gotten out of the house as fast as she could. 

The grass that started where the sand ended began to slope up, until craggy stone holes appeared in the side. The caves. Hardly anyone visited them; they were said to be haunted.

Miriallia began to climb the short distance up to the ledge that connected the three caves that were large enough to stand in. Her hands reached the ledge and her left foot slipped on the sharp outcrop that it had been resting on, hitting the inside of her ankle. Miriallia cried out in shock and pain. Hauling herself over the edge, Miriallia took a moment to examine her ankle. It was the night of the new moon, so she couldn't see anything. Pushing herself up off the ground, Mir hobbled over to the nearest of the three caves and peered inside. Nothing. She went to the second, and the same result. Hobbling over to the third Miriallia peered inside. It was pitch black. Miriallia's stomach fell to her feet. She had been stood up. She leaned her back against the craggy rock that divided the second and third caves, and drew an unsteady breath. She looked up at the velvety black sky dotted with bright stars and blinked back a few tears. Deciding she didn't want to stick around by some haunted caves by herself, Miriallia took a step towards the edge, planning on going home and spending a long night alone wrapped up in her duvet.

Just then, a voice called out to her from the darkness. "Glad you could show up," it said. Dearka came out of the darkness of the third cave. He had his arms crossed and he was not happy.

Miriallia didn't notice and let out a sigh of relief. "I thought that you weren't here," she explained in a relieved tone.

"I'm surprised you showed up at all," Dearka replied. Mir finally noticed the bitter, biting edge in his voice.

"What's the matter?" she asked, concerned. Miriallia moved closer to Dearka and reached up to touch his cheek. He turned his face away.

A confused look clouded Miriallia's features. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Dearka muttered coldly. He stepped out of the mouth of the cave and walked to the edge of the shelf. He locked his eyes on the horizon, where the sea met the sky. It was black. "I went to the marketplace today," he said in a faux cool voice.

Miriallia understood. "You saw me with Tolle, didn't you?" Dearka nodded silently, his jaw clenched. Miriallia let out a short peal of laughter.

Dearka turned on his heel, his eyes blazing. He opened his mouth to say something, but no noise came out. He closed his mouth and clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. By now, his face was burning red. He turned and began to walk away.

"Wait a minute," Miriallia said, grabbing Dearka's arm. He spun to face her. "You don't understand," she added.

"What don't I understand?" he asked incredulously, "That you were on a date with some other guy? That's why you're late, isn't it? Did your little rendezvous run late, or did you just take him home to meet your parents? You must really think I'm stupid, don't you?"

The colour of Miriallia's face changed faster than a traffic light; it went from green to white to red within a second.

"Where the hell do you get off telling me what I can and can't do and who I can and can't see?" she began shouting at Dearka, "I met you last night; I don't owe you a thing! And yeah, I was on a date with Tolle, and yes, I am late because he stayed for dinner and sweet talked my parents. And yeah, I guess you are pretty stupid, or at least blind. Did I look like I was having the time of my life in the market? If I did, then I really missed my calling as an actress. I had to go out with Tolle because my _father_ wants me to marry him. But I came here to see you. Now I wish I hadn't." By now, Miriallia had tears in her eyes. One dared to fall down her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently and carefully began to climb back down to the beach.

Dearka, realizing what an ass he had been, watched Miriallia go for a moment or two before springing to life. Miriallia had hit the sand and was walking back towards the city. Dearka jumped off the ledge to the beach, fell, picked himself up, and began running after the girl.

"Wait," he called, catching up to her in no time, "Wait a minute, Mir. I'm sorry, I jumped to conclusions. I'm so sorry. I didn't know." But she kept walking with her wet eyes down. Seeing that his pleading was going nowhere, Dearka stopped following. He stood by himself in the middle of the beach as Miriallia's crying form retreated. He felt helpless, and she no better.

Dearka knew not by what power his mouth opened, but he heard himself shouting: "Your favourite colour is blue!"

Miriallia stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, as if in a trance, she turned and walked back to the Coordinator.

"What?"


	6. Chapter Five: The Plot Thickens

**The Tragedy of Dearka and Miriallia**

A Dearka-Miriallia Story

Chapter Five: The Plot Thickens

_Miriallia was walking down a long, narrow corridor with high walls and frigid stone floors that made her toes ache with cold, even through the calf-skin shoes that she wore. The walls were covered in a never ending tapestry that was elegantly embroidered with grotesque scenes. Looking down, Miriallia saw that she was wearing an elaborate dress with a square neckline and a full skirt that looked like an oversized bell. She saw that a small, round mirror was attached to her girdle by a delicate gold chain. She picked up the small object and looked into the polished surface. Miriallia realized with a shock that it was not her own face peering out at her. The woman had a round face, almost a perfect circle, with full lips and green eyes. Escaping from a jeweled cap perched on her head were a few wisps of curly blonde hair._

_Feeling rather faint, Miriallia continued down the passageway, knowing that something awaited her at the end. The walls seemed to stretch on forever covered in miles of tapestry depicting martyrs being killed, stags being chased and attacked by hunting dogs, and men, women, and children being executed. Miriallia's heart started to race. Fear welled up insider her, but fear of what?_

_Suddenly, Miriallia found herself before a door. _The _door. Her shaking petite hand reached out and grasped the cold metal knob, turning it with a creak. The door swung open on its hinges._

_The room beyond was beautifully furnished with a huge four poster bed hand carved out of oak, an old fashioned writing desk, a small polished table with gleaming chairs around it, and a roaring fire in the hearth beneath an empty mantle._

_A man with dark hair and eyes had been pacing the room, but stopped when Miriallia had opened the door. He was medium height with a stocky build and broad facial features. He wore a black doublet and a matching hat, as well as black pantaloons with large slashing, revealing violet silk beneath. A gold chain with some sort of talisman hung around his neck and a thin but deadly sharp sword was at his side. He smiled when he saw Miriallia._

_There was something about his smile; perhaps the way the corners curled back, or maybe the way the creases around his mouth fell._

"_Dearka?"_

* * *

Miriallia's eyes snapped open when she heard the soft scrape of the door opening. Fllay quietly entered the room, a tray laden with breakfast in her hands. Miriallia sat up, making the white covers fall back. She yawned and stretched her arms.

"Good morning," Fllay greeted crisply in an alert voice. Miriallia grunted in response. "Your parents had to leave earlier on an emergency trip to one of the colonies," Fllay began to explain, unloading the food onto the small linen covered table in the corner of the room, "They will be gone for a few days, maybe a week, so we have the run of the house." Miriallia rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Your parents specifically requested that you spend as much time as possible with Mr. Koenig."

Miriallia let out a long suffering groan. "Why do they keep pushing him on me?" she asked in the typical teenager voice.

"Because," Fllay replied crisply, holding out Miriallia's white dressing robe, signaling it was time to get up, "It's a good match. I know you don't think so now, but that is because you are a slave to your hormones. Tolle is a very nice and caring man; you don't come across too many of those, you know. And he is rich and powerful as well; he is the Princess' cousin, you know."

"I know," Miriallia replied, struggling out of her bed and slipping into the robe. Miriallia plunked herself down in a chair and immediately began pushing her eggs around on her plate with her fork. She was exhausted. After she and Dearka had cleared everything up, they had stayed at the caves for almost three hours, talking almost the entire time.

"So," asked Fllay, sitting down across from Miriallia, her eyes gleaming, "How was last night?" Miriallia's eyes shot up at the nurse, shocked.

"Huh?" she asked stupidly.

"Last night," Fllay repeated, "When you went out."

"Oh, right," Miriallia answered. She remembered that she told Fllay she was going out with to meet some friends. "Good."

"So, who was it?" Fllay continued.

"Who was what?" Miriallia answered only half paying attention as memories flooded her mind.

"Where is your head at Miriallia Haww?" Fllay demanded.

Miriallia regarded her nurse for a moment. She was more like a mother than Murrue ever was. It wasn't that Miriallia's mother didn't love her, but a woman of her social standing had a great deal of business to attend, and children were often left to be raised by hired hands. Although Fllay was a gossip, she had never told one of their 'special' secrets.

"Fllay, you have to swear that you will never tell anyone…"

* * *

Dearka shot up in his bed. His hand immediately went up to his forehead and he began to knead it ferociously. He had had the strangest dream. It had something to do with a … blonde? And fire, so much fire. But the shards that remained in the boys head quickly drifted away like smoke on the wind, leaving him with only the memory that he had dreamed.

* * *

"I'm worried about you, Cagalli," Athrun said, the emotion clearly showing through his voice. The two were in Cagalli's spacious office, which was decorated with Victorian furniture and a few oil paintings of princes who had once ruled Venanatia.

Cagalli sat behind her oak desk, immersed in paperwork. "You have nothing to worry about," she said offhandedly to her companion, "I can assure you that I am very well protected."

"Cagalli," Athrun continued urgently, leaning forward "You aren't listening to me. The citizens want the Coordinators out. They are starting to get restless and fed up. Something is going to happen. We have to act, soon."

Cagalli looked up from her paperwork. "I know what is going on in my own city, Athrun," she replied more coldly than she intended, "I know that the citizens want the Coordinators out, and I know that the Coordinators are sick of the Naturals, and I know that I am being held accountable by all parties involved. What would you have me do, Athrun? Banish your people? And if I did, where could they go? No other region will allow them in."

"You know I wouldn't suggest anything of the sort," Athrun retorted. They were both starting the get fed up with each other, something that rarely happened in their long relationship. Athrun ran his hand through his hair impatiently. He strode around Cagalli's desk and stood before the large window. The blonde's amber eyes followed him closely. Athrun stood before the panes of glass with his hands behind his back. He silently regarded the streets below. "I've heard things, whispered rumours. Rebels are gathering. I daresay we can easily imagine their intentions."

Cagalli stood up from her chair and went to stand beside Athrun. "There is very little that we can do at this time."

"Actually," Athrun said slowly, "There _might_, and I stress _might_, be a way to subdue the hostilities, perhaps even stop them entirely."

Cagalli looked at him suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

"There is a boy I know…"

* * *

Dearka sat on a park bench, his legs stretched out before him. He silently watched what few people had ventured out of the safety of their homes. He was in the old west-end of town, the Naturals' side. The park was smaller, but older than the Coordinators'; it had only been built a few years before. The Coordinators liked to build their world from scratch, and they had obliged themselves when they had been forced back to Earth. But Dearka found something alluring about the Natural way; they way they let things flow and grow freely. And not just their parks, but their people as well. There were hardly any arranged marriages with Naturals, as opposed to their genetically engineered counterparts, who were practically all with the partner their parents had chosen.

Dearka closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting the sun warm his face. It was a sensation that he had never experienced on PLANT; the sun never came the same way.

The corners of Dearka's lips were tugged down. He had tried to keep his mind occupied since the moment he awoke, thinking of anything at all, but now his mind wandered back to his dream. It was so…life like. The feel, the sound, the smell, the pain…But he was just being stupid. That had to be it. It was only a dream after all…

Dearka's eyes opened at the sound of a girl clearing her throat. Standing before him, with a blue scarf tied around her waist, was Miriallia, smiling faintly.

"Hello," she said softly. It was all Dearka could do to restrain himself from kissing her right there on the spot, in front of the other park-goers and all. Miriallia continued, saying: "This is my nurse, Fllay." She gestured behind her to a middle aged woman with red hair. She didn't look at all pleasant; her brows were low and glowering and her mouth had a sour twist to it. Dearka gave her a nod of acknowledgement. "After about twenty paces, follow us," Miriallia instructed and began walking further down the path. Dearka did not watch them go. He and Miriallia had planned the meeting; he was to wait in the park until she could get away from the house. She would say a quick hello, it would look like a quick introduction to any on lookers, and then he would follow Miriallia into a secluded place that she knew.

Dearka counted in his mind the twenty steps, and then stood up. He stretched out his muscles quickly and strolled along the path. He could see the figures of the two women ahead of him, and followed them blindly into the trees. There was a thin, worn footpath weaving through the woods. At length, the three came out into a small clearing with an old swing set in the middle. Miriallia was seated on an old rubber seat, her hands lightly clutching the reddish coloured chains. At Dearka's arrival, the nurse Fllay left the area to give the two some privacy, as well as to stand guard.

Once the nurse was out of the way, Miriallia flung herself into Dearka's arms.

* * *

The sun was getting low in the sky, staining the clouds orange. Dearka sat on a swing with Miriallia on his lap, her head leaning against his chest.

"I had a dream last night," Miriallia said suddenly, "It was about us, it _was _us, but it…wasn't. Does that make sense?"

Dearka felt a sinking sensation in his chest. "Really? Me too. What happened in yours?"

"Nothing, really. I was just walking around and stuff and you were in a room. That's so cool, though, that we had the same dream. It's like we are on the same wave link or something." Miriallia continued to chatter on about fate and such, but Dearka wasn't listening. He and Miriallia hadn't had the same dream at all. In Dearka's, they both died.


End file.
